themselves laid him between them, and when they noticed that he was
beginning to cease to perspire Mr. Leopold made him a nice cup of hot tea.

"That's the way the Gaffer used to get the flesh off in the old days when
he rode the winner at Liverpool."

"It's the Demon's own fault," said Mr. Swindles; "if he hadn't been so
greedy he wouldn't have had to sweat, and we should 'ave been spared a
deal of bother and anxiety."

"Greedy!" murmured the little boy, in whom the warm tea had induced a new
perspiration; "I haven't had what you might call a dinner for the last
three months. I think I'll chuck the whole thing."

"Not until this race is over," said Mr. Swindles. "Supposing I was to pass
the warming-pan down these 'ere sheets. What do you say, Mr. Leopold? They
are beginning to feel a bit cold."

"Cold! I 'ope you'll never go to a 'otter place. For God's sake, Mr.
Leopold, don't let him come near me with the warming-pan, or else he'll
melt the little flesh that's left off me."

"You 'ad better not make such a fuss," said Mr. Leopold; "if you don't do
what you are told, you'll have to take salts again and go for another walk
with William."

"If we don't warm up them sheets 'e'll dry up," said Mr. Swindles.

"No, I won't; I'm teeming."